August 19, 20: Heading North

The adventures started early because Matt had to get to work. Our border crossings had been non-events until this point, but this one became a bit of an event as we got just a glimpse of some of the hassles that come from regular border crossings. The issue seemed to boil down to who could use the special plates and surely Clare and my presence didn't help. Matt waited patiently and after a 20-30 minute delay and a (fortunate?) shift change got us to San Diego transit and himself on the way.

We rode into Little Italy where we drank coffee, charged phones, and waited to rent our car. My KC Royals hat was again a conversation piece as the barista claimed to be Ewing Ka*uffman's grandson. I didn't know what to say when he told me that, so I chose, "Nice to meet you."

Rolling along in our Kia Soul, we set sail for Newport Beach. We stopped for REI fuel and Wal-Mart groceries and stopped again at a harbor for lunch after declining to pay $15 for a park entrance fee. We arrived just after two for what was supposed to be tea with Jean (my third cousin). By three, we'd had drinks and been then started into a  full lunch. The lunch included fresh fruit, some persian items, and baklava for the road. Taghi, grandson Jay and son-in-law Juve' also kept us entertained. I wish we'd been able to stay longer, but we had to head out and battle LA traffic. It wasn't as bad as expected and we made it to Point Magu and camping on the beach before sunset. The wind was whipping our tent around and the tide was coming in, but all the noise drowned out the sounds of the highway. It was a noisy evening for sure. I awoke at two am and found the gibbous moon was nowhere to be seen, except for what looked like a continuous headlight around the bend on 101.

Clare woke up first the next morning and started breakfast. After cooking through the plastic lid of the jetboil, her cooking improved. We packed up camp and hit the road in fits and starts. Our first stop was Santa Barbara. I had a hankering for cinnamon rolls and we managed to find Recipes Bakery for a pair of delicious ones. After a stroll down the main drag and a stop in the old courthouse, we headed on to lunch at a Cal-Mex place recommend by Sunset magazine just outside of Santa Maria called Rancho Nipomo.

From there we visited the slightly disappointing location of the first motel. I wanted to make a joke about the pool since its remnants were still visible, but I still don't have one. We also had a few tastes of beer at the Central Coast brewery, both in SLO, San Luis Obispo.

We drove on from there to Nit Wit Ridge which is no longer open. Some had called it a poor man's Hearst Castle, but after visiting Hearst I wonder if it might have been more my speed. Hearst's "ranch" was an ostentatious art collection on a hill, way up on a hill. Our guide thought he was a legend, but I have to wonder if the guidebook's description of him as a meglomaniac might be more accurate. Something about the place really bugged me. Maybe the fact that it was only a part-time home.

We pushed on to Big Sur, arriving to our creekside campground just before dark. The creek was rushing by and we'd had dinner for the first time since the tacos in Tijuana. The dark clean-up was a little challenging, but now we're settled in for the night.

Trip log: August 16, 17, 18

Matt H. picked us up at the San Diego airport and whisked us to Mexico. The border crossing was a cinch and we were on the sixth floor of a Tijuana apartment building in no time. After visiting with Sharyn and Matt, we headed to bed.

Saturday morning, after a B&B-worthy breakfast, Matt resumed aggressively driving us through Mexico down to La Bufadora a.ka. "The Blowhole". We were all "overwhelmed" by the many opportunities to purchase Mexican (and non-Mexican) souvenirs (T-shirt highlight: "Don't ask me for Sh*t" Ensenada, Mexico). The blowhole was popular, but we weren't able to see a hole, just water spraying up from the marine geyser.

From La Bufadora we headed to Mexican wine country. The valley was quite pretty and we ate outside at Deckman's. The four of us sat just a few yards from vineyard and outdoor kitchen under the shade of a sizable tree. We delighted in a white wine and the "three" courses of delicacies including tuna, oysters, scallops, quail, and pork. Every course was so good that even I downed the seafood. The vegetables were exquisitely charred on the grill. It was nearly perfect.

Since we'd driven the coast down, we cut through the mountains on the way home. As we drove through Tecate, I was struck by the border fence. It didn't feel right. I don't have the answers, but I recalled a quote regarding the mixed signals of the Statue of Liberty and a fence. Not only that, but the fence is on the side of a mountain. Couldn't someone give a little  and put the hill clearly on one side or the other if the fence has to be there?

Late night dinner at El Franck's. I had nearly forgotten how delicious tacos in Mexico can be.

Sunday, we crossed into San Diego. Matt and Sharyn said that normal border crossings run 2-4 hours without a sentri pass. We were through in 20 minutes and on our way to the Hotel Del at Coronado Beach. The Del was a fine hotel, but Clare's descriptions of the days when a rail spur brought rich patrons to the doorstep were more compelling than any remaining architectural detail. We spent the afternoon on the beach. It was great to throw with Matt and lounge around.

We were joined on the beach by recent transplants Jeff and Sheri. Good times. For a late lunch, we made our way to Leroy's. My burger with bacon jam was excellent, the Downtown Brown beer was ok, but the dessert at Moo Time took the cake, well actually the ice cream. From lunch, we headed up to Soledad park where we had great views of San Diego. then we chilled with sea lions (or seals?) in La Jolla.

Matt and Sharyn were such wonderful gracious hosts and it was such a pleasure to begin our trip among friends. In some ways, it made the vacation feel more at home than home.

From lungbuster to 5k

It's been a big week for sports. I went to a tournament in Breckenridge last weekend. I was invited up Friday morning. The team was thrown together, but the setting was perfect. I had several of those "I can't believe I live here" moments as I was looking at the mountains and preparing for my first non-beach Ultimate tournament in ages.

The team, named GRUDGE, came together well. We clicked, we pulled in pick-up after pick-up, sometimes from the very team that would play us next. The pick-ups seemed to get better as the weekend went on. We went 2-2 on Saturday. I had 5 turns and a few nice highlights including a grab on a hammer that had seemingly sailed over my head. Somehow I hung in the air and it stuck to my hand. Sunday, we made quick work of the first team, although my layout resulted in some ringing ears and then we made pretty quick work to avenge a loss from Saturday. We took our semi-final game to 9-9 before succumbing 13-10. I got to land our last punch, though, with a down wind high release backhand break. I'm skipping over a few moments, including a not-so-pretty argument where I was unintentionally in a guy's face regarding a strip call and a whole lot of anger over bad score-keeping. I'm skipping over some good moments too including a hot tub and no turns on Sunday that I can recall. I'm amazed and thrilled that I made it through 7 games. I've definitely hurt worse.

I farmed on Monday and played in a disappointing league game that we lost by a point. My feet and boy were starting to complain, but I managed a slow bike ride and a light run to get ready for the 5k still ahead.

Good times.

Nursing some soreness, I entered a 5k on the fourth of July. It was poorly run, but I was able to knock it out with a performance that looked a lot like my last 5k. The plan was to follow one of my brother-in-law's high school stars, but in the first 400 meters I realized that her pace wasn't quite what I had in mind. I heard cheers for her all the way though, so my pace wasn't a whole lot quicker. There wasn't a lot of intrigue in the race. I'd expected 18:30 and I ran 18:26. I was fighting hard to beat the lead dog at mile one (5:52), but never saw him again after he and his owner stopped for water. I crossed the 2-mile alone at 11:46, passed one more guy with about 800 meters to go, struggled to manufacture any sort of kick and finished 8th, well back of 7th and about 10 seconds ahead of 9th.

It was nice to be back on the fields and on the run. I need to grab a little more of that glory this summer.

It's all new except what isn't

So much has changed lately, but I return to write about a familiar topic. I'm not sure why I keep coming back to it. As I watched The Office series finale and Jim said of the documentary of Dunder Mifflin something like, "You've given me a tape that's allowed me to watch myself grow up. How cool is that?" I thought, SUPER COOL. It's the highlight reel I've often dreamt about. This blog might be mine. There are many highlights and much to consider, but I'm drawn to the sports highlights.

I'm in a new place in a new city. I'm struggling to find my way a bit; just as things were about to get a little ugly, not Atlas Shrugged ugly, but someone smoking at the table next to me ugly, Ultimate leapt back into my life.

I'd been thinking about letting it fade away. I'd been able to play winter league in DC. I missed out as my team went on to be champions, but I'd helped in the regular season. My body had held up. Now, without physical therapy and more limited transportation options, it seemed like maybe Ultimate was something that I could let slide away. I was missing CUA terribly and playing didn't seem like a remedy. A new home could mean new hobbies.

Instead, a friend, a former teammate from DC, who moved out here several years ago announced that I was playing with his team in spring league. "Before someone else scoops you up," he said. I accepted. The scoop became like an embrace. For much of spring the embrace took place in and between snow storms, but it breathed new life into my new life. I'd sit on the couch on Monday nights an hour before I could even reasonably leave for my game and twitch. I'd scurry around the house packing my things. I'd do a little extra stretching and I'd be excited to play.

Move ahead seven weeks through some ups and downs and many very close games. We won some and lost some and I enjoyed them a lot. A whole lot. Highlight of my week, lot. Monday, it was time for our  playoff game. Somewhere along the line, the team had realized that I was the youngest player, or at least the youngest male. I share that fact because it surprised me. I don't feel like I could be the youngest. Many times during the spring as I faced off against those ten or more years younger, it showed. The fun, the joy I feel at running around and snagging discs, though, that feels timeless. I felt young, younger, youngest out there.

Monday night, I came to play. I was nervous about my usual aches and I had blisters on both my palms. I wasn't sure how my body was going to do, but I was still ready to go. The game was pretty sloppy and subject to momentum shifts. Our team had trouble on offense and the stack was stagnating.

I may be the youngest on the team, but I'm far from the tallest. This worked in my favor. Instead of drawing the taller defenders, I got to pick on someone my own size when on offense. As the disc moved to one of our handlers with a penchant for hammers, I saw my opening. The disc moved to my side of the field, I was basically in the lane, but there was a clear, though rather long, path to the opposite corner of the end zone. I glanced at the handler with a look that could only mean, "look for the hammer" and I took off running. He didn't disappoint. He reared back and launched a hammer that nearly flew too far, but managed to sneak past the jumping defender and into my hands. It was quite satisfying.

Later, on the wrong end of a momentum shift, a play was called. The play was, get it to Will and huck it to Dave. As the disc moved to Will, I cut a few steps across the field and then took off to the forehand corner. The throw went up and began to slice back toward the middle of the field. I tracked it and once again had good fortune that my hands were especially sticky on this evening. Yes!

Nearly everything was working for me, although one big huck did get off endzone to endzone right through my straight up mark. Still, the cutting had gone well. I handled for a bit and felt like I was moving it well and had some nice up the line cuts, but things down field weren't developing. I was stuck and my dump was covered. The force was forehand and I wanted to get off a backhand dump. The count was at 8 when a second handler made an up the line cut. I didn't have time to adjust to my forehand so I just brought my backhand through and flipped it ahead. It was a fine mixture of creativity and desperation. It's not something that usually works out for me, but it did there.

I got a tipped disc, not quite a handblock, and threw a nice looping inside out for a score, but still we struggled as a team to pull it all together. I had my eye on a callahan, but that requires a fast twitch that seems to be missing from my game. We took half 7-6, but succumbed to the final momentum surge and lost 8-7. I'm proud of the way I played and proud of the way the team kept coming back. I don't understand entirely what it takes and means to win, not in a recreational league and not at higher levels, but I know that playing and battling meant a great deal. Playing well was a thrill and reliving it has carried me through the week.

There are questions about winning, losing, aging, and narcissism swirling inside me, but I think I'd rather day dream about chasing plastic and get ready to go again when summer league starts.

Inauguration Station

The stated reason for waking up at 6:00 AM was to follow Jim down to the mall and to take a contest-entry-worthy photo of the festivities that engulf this town every four years. Even as I pulled on my long johns and threw my camera bag over my shoulder I knew that photos were secondary to something else.

I walked through the dark and found the streets mostly empty of cars and populated with growing foot traffic. There was energy in the air, but it was more relaxed than the energy of four years ago.

This was my third inauguration, but my first chance to walk into history. As we wound around and around and around the security barriers, it turned out that walking into history was more circuitous than I'd expected. The crowds came together into a mass and then shed a bit at each entrance for the ticketed. After an hour of walking, we finally reached the crush of general public making their way onto the National Mall.

A mere four hours from the ceremony and the big screen TVs were already playing reruns and Ellen jokes. It was the first round of several. The crowd looked large, but again not the crowd of the first swearing-in. We wandered a bit, priced handwarmers (two for $5, two for $8, if you paid more than $1 you were ripped off), and took a few opportunities to sit. The mall itself was covered in plastic and it felt a bit like being on the roof.  (National Treasure would have a field day with that, but it kept us out of the mud.)

As I waited, and looked around, I saw some of the hope and change, but still couldn't quite figure out why we, or really I had come. I was a good 100,000 people away from the capitol and watching the pageantry on TV. There was plenty of Obama paraphernalia,  a few chants of U.S.A., and a lot of stars and stripes. More were on their way.

The crowd didn't "Shout" when instructed this year by the big screens. The flags did wave, sometimes with fervor, but that magic of four years ago was not present, at least not for me. I listened to the invocation of Evers-Williams and looked around trying to figure out what I was waiting for.

After the president was sworn in and he began to speak, I realized what I'd come for. It was inspiration and a reminder that I'm a small part of something bigger. I waved my flag vigorously as Obama checked off many areas this country can improve from equal pay, gay rights, the environment to the economy and world peace. It was big, general talk for a big diverse audience, but it made me realize why I woke up so early. I'm a part of this crowd. I can approach it cynically and crack jokes or wonder about my sanity as I'm swept up in a crowd moving in the wrong direction or I can do what I can to be heard and to be a part of this crowd. I've got a voice and I get to be heard even just a little bit. Sometimes, we'll have to turn around and take an alternate route, but the crowd has power that we fail to appreciate. This was the "I voted" sticker come to life. It doesn't always have to be bickering and bad news. Obama reminded me that don't have to have all the answers, we just have to take steps and push ourselves.

What does it all mean?

I played Ultimate yesterday. I rejoined my Team Schaefer and took the field on a 60-degree winter day.  It was 5 on 5 and the team we were playing had just crushed their previous opponent. Still they eyed us nervously. I looked at us, an aging hodge-podge of Ultimate players that I knew and didn't, and worried that perhaps we were being judged by past success.

I'm still not sure who was right. My body allowed me to play. I was tentative at times, and certainly out of shape, but I got to play. I got an early D. I handled a bit. I threw one away. I couldn't figure out where and when to cut, but still grabbed a few scores. The story lines look about the same as they always have. It's hard to judge a single sloppy game where most of the offense came from hucks and most of the defense came from body positioning and ill-advised throws. I handled more than I would have liked, but my cuts weren't that effective. I didn't get beat much on defense, but I wasn't scaring anybody either.

We won. We battled back from 10-12 to win 15-13. Somehow I expected a more triumphant return. I couldn't have expected it from my body. It's been neglected in all facets save flexibility. I shouldn't have expected it from the sidelines or the team. They were as present or not as they've always been.

One game may be one game. It's the accumulation that matters. As I stretch and massage and try to recover, I try not think about how challenging accumulation has become.

2012 movies

1. 2012
2. Delirious
3. For your consideration
4. One Day
5. Moneyball
6. Made in Dagenham
7. Our Idiot Brother
8. No Strings Attached
9. Friends with Benefits
10. I don't know how she does it
11. Nine Queens (re-watch)
12. Tron: Legacy
13. Win Win
14. 50/50
15. In Time
16. Proof
17. Ides of March
18. Racing Dreams
19. Like Crazy
20. Limitless
21. The Hunger Games (theater)
22. Water for Elephants
23. Footloose
24. Following
25. The Iron Lady
26. Carnage
27. 30 minutes or Less
28. Paul
29. Safe (theater)
30. My Week with Marilyn
31. Down by Law
32. Role Models
33. The Avengers
34. Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
35. Rum Diary
36. Exit Through the Gift Shop
37. The Giant Mechanical Man
38. X-Men: 1st Class
39. The Vow
40. Drive
41. Being There
42. The Big Year
43. Margin Call
44. Wanderlust
45. Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (theater)
46. Young Adult
47. Safety Not Guaranteed (theater)
48. L'auberge espagnole
49. A Dangerous Method
50. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
51. Sherlock Holmes: Game of Shadows
52.
53. Friends with Kids
54. Going the Distance
55. Jeff, who lives at home
56. 21 Jump Street
57. Salmon Fishing in Yemen
58. The Ten Inch Hero
59. Keeping Mum
60. Albatross
61. Bachelorettes
62. Ceremony
63. Clue (re-watch)
64. Mystery Team
65. Harold
66. The Dictator
67. The Edge of Love
68. The Perks of Being a Wallflower
69. Frida
70. Ghostbusters (re-watch)
71. We Bought a Zoo
72. All the Queen's Men
73. National Lampoon's Vacation (re-watch)
74. The 5-year engagement
75. 28 days later (re-watch)
76. Grown-ups
77. Priceless
78. 28 weeks later
79. Sex and Lucia
80. Butter
81. Seeking a Friend for the End of the World
82. The Proposal (re-watch)
83. Ruby Sparks
84. Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol

Wow. That was a lot of movies. I think 13, 80, and 83 stand out at the moment. My least favorite have already been blocked out, though not completely for 74 or 35.

2012 Books

1. Bowerman and the Men of Oregon
2. I am the Messenger
3. Paper Towns
4. The Other Wes Moore
5. Adland
6. The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey
7. Super Sad True Love Story
8. State of Wonder
9. The Gashouse Gang
10. When the Game was Ours
11. The Thieves of Manhattan
12. Ready Player One
13. Game of Thrones (Song of Fire's Ice #1)
14. Livability: Stories
15. One Perfect Day: The Selling of the American Wedding
16. True Blue
17. Joe College: Novel
18. Divergent
19. The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet
20. The Night Circus
21. The Age of Innocence
22. Consider: Harnessing the Power of Reflective Thinking in your organization
23. Why we make mistakes
24. Spousonomics
25. Just one look
26. What the dog saw
27. An Object of Beauty
28. Memoirs of a teenage amnesiac
29. Swamplandia
30. Great by Choice
31. Red Ink
32. Oryx and Crake
33. The Invisible Gorilla
34. The Hypnotist
35. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time
36. Gone Girl

My winners: 8, 20, 27, 32, 36.  The losers: 5, 9
I did not read a book that I wanted to give five stars to in 2012.

12/15/11- Gunn's Place and adventure

It's raining. We're in a little cabin beneath some snow capped peaks. It's called Gunn's place and it's in Hollyford about 40 km from Milford Sound. We'd planned to camp, but the rain doesn't look like it's going to let up any time soon. We'll try again tomorrow night. My dad would appreciate this place. It has a quirky sense of humor. Gunn had a horse named Jane who lived to be 38. On one side of the horse, Gunn painted "horse". Visitors would ask why and he'd tell them with so many hunters around he didn't want Jane getting shot. The visitors would ask, "Why does the other side say 'cow'?"

"I need the milk," was Gunn's answer.

The shower water was heated by wood burning and there's a generator running the camp's electricity. Even through the rain the drive here was gorgeous. I am running out of adjectives for New Zealand.

This morning we packed in a few thrills on a canyoning adventure. Dressed in wet suits and climbing harnesses, we took to the woods near Queenstown. We walked up for about five minutes, spent some time criss-crossing a stream on ziplines and then abseiled/rappelled down to the stream. I enjoyed the rappelling and started to get a reputation as the group daredevil (not at all like a real daredevil) with a big kick off the wall for the photo they'd try to sell me later. Then I was eager to volunteer for a seven meter slide down a falls. I almost lost a shoe. The five meter and eight meter jumps were right up my alley too. The skydiving really knocked some of my fears away. I still had a slight hesitation at eight meters, but not much. Splish Splash!

C wasn't able to make the climb up for the jumps, but even after slipping and falling she remained in good spirits. I seemed more rattled by it than she was. Over the same pool as the jumps, we also took a zip line out over it (11m), belayed ourselves down and then released into the water. I couldn't get my knot undone, so required help from the guide, but it was still a hoot. We went through a narrow channel of water, belly-flopped into a pool and abseiled once more. It was a good time. Expensive for what it was, but not something easily recreated at home.

I accidently put our shoes and shirts in the wrong van which caused some more excitement to close out the adventure, but we eventually set things right and headed to Fergburger.  It was underwhelming all ways but size. We were probably hungry, so a big burger was a win. Dinner was supermarket fare. Had we known we weren't going to camp we could have bought hot food, but the salami, Edam, and kiwi fruits were winners again. C wasn't feeling well and let me to shop for the next three meals. If we survive, I will have succeeded.  I think I'm a little disappointed we aren't heading out on a bigger hike, but right now I'm not really prepared materially for a bigger hike and we don't really have time for one.

I'm still more hiker in my mind than reality. Someday I may acquire the right supplies, mindset, and time all at once. Until then 10 sleeps* until Christmas.

Other note: For some reason New Zealand has reminded me of college- perhaps the freedom, perhaps I just miss my friends a bit, but I've got a postcard off to the Smiths. Australia immediately reminded me of MS's time there. the silver fern looks like Jif's tattoo. We've heard music by S by iPod.

Not college, but I'm also reminded of MP's stories from South Africa. Maybe I do miss my friends a bit. There are many nice people on trips here. Maybe it's that common experience of holiday replacing college. Maybe it's all the talk of drinking. "Don't drink and fry." It's definitely been a good trip for a long one- not having the language barrier has been a huge relief.

(*Unless you happen to be flying back to the US and gaining a sleep.)

12/13/11- From lodge to Mt. Cook

I'm a day behind writing (and more than a year behind in transcribing), but I'll try to get caught back up. We opted for a cold breakfast only forcing our chef to slice carrots, oranges, and ginger for a morning smoothie rather than cooking a complete breakfast. We then got a very interesting garden tour from the head gardener. It felt strange to have our car brought up to us and our bags brought down, but our lifestyles of the faux-rich and pretend-famous were coming to a close.

We headed toward Mt. Cook, stopped for lunch in a shopping center where I had a delicious savory pie, and then rolled on. As the gardner had promised the first hour of the drive wasn't that pretty, but soon the vistas improved. When we hit the brilliant blue of Lake Tekapo we had to pull over to take pictures. Sediment disturbance caused by glaciers when they formed the lake gave it a bright blue coloring. It was gorgeous. Mt. Cook became visible an hour later in front of a bright blue lake as well. Our DOC campground was in the shadow of a glacier and hill a hill in the shadow of Mt. Cook. We set up camp and walked 45 minutes until we could see Mt. Cook clearly.  We had dinner at a ski lodge, I had Sir Edmund Hillary's Pork Sausages. It was the most expensive meal (we've paid for). We went to bed while it was still light out and awoke to a light rain and awoke to a light-ish rain, and awoke to rain.

We packed our wetness in a hurry just before 7 AM, skipped the hike we'd planned and pointed toward  Queenstown. We had breakfast in Twizel in a park with food courtesy of an open Four Square supermarket. Driving on to Queenstown, we stopped to admire Merino wool and possibly the home of Shrek the most famous sheep (blinded by his 25 kilogram coat). I'm not clear on the fame or Shrek's life story. Traffic picked up as we entered Queenstown, so did lodges and perhaps intensity. C compared Queenstown to Gatlinburg, it's apt, but it's also like an amped up ski town or college town where adventure activity is the university. Almost every third store on the main drag was able to book some type of adventure for an interested traveler. We go canyoning tomorrow.

We had lunch at a kebab place and then decided to separate for the afternoon. C went to Arrowtown and I rented a mountain bike and rode around the peninsula. The scenery was great, but getting my heart pumping and getting a taste for what a mountain bike could really do were even better. It was mostly flat stretches, but there were some wiggles through trees and over rocks. I returned to town the same way I'd come pumping hard to get back. It took about two hours and then I spent 45 minutes more trying to climb some of the ridiculously steep streets around. I don't know if I've ever climbed anything so steep for so long. I had to stop because my legs were burning. It was great in an odd sort of way. Tonight we're up on the roof deck of our hostel the Laughing Southerner after pizza at Winne's (and a Monteith Black- yum) and some ginger dark fudge. The view from here is once again spectacular as clouds have just released the tall peak to the North (?). If it weren't for the 500 or so resort-style homes and hotels in my view I could believe I was in Middle Earth looking to unload the ring.

12/12/11- Otahuna Lodge

Fancy dinner. Fancy hotel. More to come.

Continued the next morning.

If jumping out of a plane was a strange sensation it's hard to describe what staying at Otahuna Lodge is like.  It lacks the adrenaline rush of skydiving, but it's novel or mor accurately makes me feel like I'm in a novel (or perhaps a movie). A lovely Queen Anne home part way up a hill, surrounded by countryside, it's where the very rich come to stay. The per night prices hover in the area of our monthly rent. Our room with verandah hovers in the same square footage as well. We were almost so comfortable, it was uncomfortable. If we hadn't felt out of place, our every whim appeared to be just a wink and a nod away. Hooray for this perk from C's job.

At 6:30 last night we went down for drinks. I had a Glenmorangie neat. The scotch selection was not that impressive, but otherwise I'm awed. We talked with Ben the butler until the other two guests Aussies Victoria and Olivia arrived. After socializing a while and learning that Olivia had been to the Kentucky Derby for her birthday, we settled down for a five course meal. I don't usually like wine, but I found out that wine (well-paired) with gourmet dishes made mostly from local (as in on the property) items can be delicious. By the time the port came with dessert, I had drank enough. Ben recommended we stroll around the grounds once more while the sun set in the pink sky. We giggled through a walk before retiring to our elegant room. It's all almost too much. Is this how Pretty Woman felt?

During the day yesterday, we biked a bit in Christchurch. We saw some earthquake damage and had coffee and scones at C in the Re:Start shipping container mall. It was quite chic. We heard there were other shipping container malls, but none were being used post-disaster like this. It reminded us of the tin city we'd learned about in Napier, post-disaster there. It made me want a shipping container home. I do enjoy the re-purposed building/container.

On pause

I sit at the desk with poor posture as my back crushes itself. Those muscles that hold me up grow lazy and weak from lack of use. My writing muscles follow the same regime. I sometimes ride to work and sometimes rally my pen there too, but neither are enough exercise to grow strong, just enough to stop from putting on much weight.

I've straightened my back and I'm searching for the rhythm on the computer keyboard. The tap-tap-tappity-tap of a confident writer. I gaze into that space between glasses and screen, the space that blocks out the world and where creativity might float by. I've strapped on my headphones and turned up Hem to drown out the sounds of TV. The light bulbs of our Christmas tree dance in my peripheral vision and reflect in the corner of my iMac.

If questioned, I'd still call Hem my favorite band. Sure, Carley Rae Jepsen's Call Me Maybe and PSY's Gangnam Style make me want to sing along and dance respectively, but no body of work moves me like Hem's. There are rumors that new music is coming and I look on with interest. I can't say exactly what it is about Hem that's allowed them to not only claim the title of my favorite band, but to remain there, virtually unchallenged. There's something so beautiful (and perhaps timeless) about the music, the lyrics, and the singing. I find each song filled with emotion. The songs manage to be inspirational, sad, and uplifting all at the same time. As I listen and write I wonder why I haven't listened more recently.

I could use some of that inspiration to propel me through more blog posts. Perhaps I needed to slow down enough to appreciate the nuance of sad and uplifting. Maybe I just need more exercise.

Missed my 10 year

Poor neglected little blog- Ten years ago you were the adventure in social media. I was connecting with friends, getting my writing out there, and trying to find my voice. There have been a few restarts and some side projects, but for the most part this little blog has all but dried up. I'm connecting on Facebook, in a sense, maybe, I think. My writing is tucked away, hibernating, waiting to re-emerge when inspiration strikes. Those strikes seem few and far between. My voice is this one. It doesn't feel as wacky as it once did. The vocal cords are rusty. If they were in a wagon, they'd need a push down the hill.

Yet, somehow, I can't quite give this up. Both of my readers might be disappointed. What would they read once every month? Where would they go for the latest in vague statements and stories about running.

At 10, I sense it might be time for a change, but I don't know yet what that change might be. I thought there would be more shocks to the system, more giant spotlights pointing me in the right direction, more trumpets heralding the path, more giant arrows, but instead I find just little clues. Life is a lot more like a scavenger hunt and lot less like a movie than I was expecting.

A little bit crushed

I didn't expect to feel this way. I only went to one game. I only watched a handful on TV. Last night, I checked the updating box score online and then finally in the seventh inning turned on the radio and curled up on the kitchen floor.

As I listened to the Nationals in game 5 of this wild series, I flashed back to my childhood. I missed Denny Matthews and Paul Splitorff, Kansas City Royals announcers, even as I pictured the game currently in progress. I missed my transistor radio too.

I could tell it was nuts at the stadium, but my heart remained relatively calm. I checked my pulse even as the Cardinals made their surprising ninth-inning comeback. My pulse remained relatively normal. I still believed. These Nats had come back before. They would do it again. This was the year.

Then it was over.

I turned off the radio and went to bed. Disappointed that I didn't get to bust out the door and join DC for some cheering in the streets, I fell asleep quickly. I thought when I woke up it might be different.

I turned to the sports page and it described the disappointment and shock so well. I turned to Facebook and read the alternating reports of jubilation from the many Missouri pals and sadness from the DC area. I celebrated most of the season with the Internet. I read Washington Post stories all year and excitedly followed this young Nats team, yet today the Internet's account feels inadequate.

Even my oatmeal lacks a certain something this morning.

12/11/11- Glowing and waiting

It's been a day of waiting. I woke up early and wandered the mean street of Waitomo, then we loitered until an i-Site opened up so we could book a Waitomo cave "tubing" ticket and loiter some more. After all our waiting we were rewarded with a glow worm* tour of the caves. It was a walk, crawl, slide through a cave, about 1.5 km of cave. The glow worms have a tail light that shines during their pupae stage. The caves had been compared to the night sky and the glow worms stars, but I thought they looked more like a city at night when a plane is landing. The lights tended to extend more like a peninsula and less like the cosmos.

We wore wetsuits in the caves. I can only imagine what discovering those caves must have been like, the glow, the strands (like a spider's web) hanging from the ceiling. Our moment of faux-discovery was a waterfall. We had to earn it by wading through waist deep water and then crawling through a space that would have scared me heaps if I'd come across it on my own. We emerged under a seven meter falls and it was pretty neat. From there it was more glowing and more tubing, not to mention a slide and a backwards hop onto our tube. All in all kind of fun.

The drive to the airport, complete with lap sandwiches, lead us to a delayed flight that finally got us to the South Island. The window seat was glorious. The South Island mountains had snow on top. The scenery was gorgeous- LOTR gorgeous. I'm excited again. To top it off, our hostel for the night is a converted jailhouse and they've tried to stick with the theme. I swear the lights clanked off. We're in a cell in bunk beds. The windows are barred and there are some serious creaking noises. I look forward to seeing daylight. A nice pick by C.


*The worms are insects, so not worms at all.

12/10/11- Jumping out of the sky

It's hard to know where to start this day. Yes, it was great to wake up in our free campsite to the sounds of goats, stream, and NZ yokels. There was a light mist accompanying breakfast, but we got ready to go and headed to Taupo. We arrived to find the trappings of a race. It wouldn't be until after second breakfast at Indulgence (bacon and egg sandwich and an iced coffee- oh look iced coffee here comes with ice cream. Score.) that we'd discover the race was the Taupo half-Ironman. I watched a bit of the bike to run transition and decided that I need to enter a tri. 2012 goal? Straight from NZ.

All morning we kicked around the idea of skydiving, but it was overcast and I was scared, so we put it off. We hiked out to Huku Falls (a little over 5k) and had the good fortune to see three kayaks run the falls. We had wandered through the park which included a "confidence course" and a zipline (6 inches off the ground under our weight.) on the way out to the falls. On the way back, we jumped into the Waikato River. It was fed in one place by a geothermal stream, but it was still cold and refreshing at our chosen plunge point. C was shocked by the temperature, having expected the spring to warm the water considerably. From there we went to sit in the geo-thermal stream-feed. The sun had started shining, but only winter could have made the stream a place to sit comfortably. The water was H-O-T, HOT!  We dipped our toes and sat for a bit where river and stream met, before heading on to lunch.

Taupo was an athletic sort of place, on a lake and river and particularly today holding a triathlon. I liked it. I had a mexican stack (pie-like enchilada) and a Phoenix Lemon and Lime and Bitters for lunch at Replete. I'd say I'm three for three on soda that are ok, but that I don't really need again.  With the sun out and our bellies full, we decided to see Taupo from the sky, or at least check out the skydiving options.

We drove out to the airport, found the very yellow Taupo tandem skydive business and steeled ourselves. TTS had a million jump options, 12k feet or 15k feet, with a photographer or a videographer, silver, platinum, gold options all to choose from. C and I decided that our budget could and should only handle the most basic package. We got a long chat from a worker on the experience chose our package and proceeded to wait another 30 minutes to even start to get going.

I was terribly nervous on the way in and sitting on the couch. I was nervous waiting, and then I put on my flight suit. The nerves didn't go away, but they were suddenly more manageable. Cue the safety video and harness set up before heading out for more waiting. Now we could see others floating down from the sky. I met a nice German named Markus on a 3.5?! month trip. More waiting and then Albert appeared and introduced himself.

Albert was nice enough, but I couldn't help noticing his crazy eyes. He had over 4,000 jumps, probably more and he seemed a bit disappointed that I wasn't going to pony up for the 15k jump. He seemed far more possessive than the other jump masters, but what the hey.

We boarded the plane, sitting close between the legs of our tandem master. They closed the gate, passed the camera and the plane started to take off. We were facing backwards and I had another jolt of nerves that I was able to clam. Albert asked if I liked flying. I answered yes and I thought about all those commercial flights where my nose was pressed against the glass taking in the city. I tried to do the same as the little prop plane climbed and climbed above Taupo, but my palms were sweating. My heart and breathing seemed ok. The scenery was brilliant, mountains, cityscape, the giant lake. On we climbed, circling up to our height. I was calmer than I'd been in the waiting room, but still had to push down thoughts of, "What the hell did I just sign on for?" 

Albert put me on his lap and tightened us in together. The altitude got me a bit at around 11k feet. Albert's conversation attempts were politely answered and I was forcing a smile. C seemed to be ignoring my looks, but she did glance back a few times and we shared nervous smiles. At 12k feet, they opened the door. One cameraman stood outside the plane, wind and sky were rushing by. My thoughts shifted again as I tried to stifle a "You've got to be kidding me!"

Three jumpers and two cameramen were away and my tandem and I shifted closer to the open door. C had jumped, but I don't recall seeing her go.  As we moved toward the door, my legs filled with lead. I could feel Albert straining against my weight to get us seated with our feet out in the sky. I couldn't move my legs, but Albert got us out the door. We leaned back to have our photo taken. I smiled brightly and then we were off tumbling- plane and cloud and sky and free fall.

It was strangely calming for a 200 km/h fall. I found a comfort level quickly. We plunged. I released my hands and got in a few gyrations, like the dancing catfish, and then plunged on trying to take it in. We fell through a cloud. Oh my god, a cloud! I had time to register the cloud, consider that it felt colder in there and wonder when I'd be able to see again.  Still falling- unbelievable!

And then the parachute pull. Violently, I was jerked vertically with my feet toward the ground. We spun quickly in circles; it was frightening again, but then we settled into a graceful float. I had to hold the controls for a moment and I didn't have full function, in fact in writing this I get nervous thinking about it. We continued to float lower and lower. I tried to soak up the sights. It was a postcard in every direction. We landed with a thud. I reluctantly tried to stand up on the rocky landing patch.

Triumph! TTS tried to sell us a DVD afterwards, but we resisted the cheesy pitch. I did buy a photo of my exit from the plane (which immediately was shared on Facebook with pride), but decided that my memory would serve me best on this adventure.

From there we drove excitedly to Waitomo. I couldn't drive because I was still so pumped up. C drove us to a nice hostel Kiwi Paka with a bar down the hill called Curly's. We had dinner there. I had a Sheperd's Pie and a Steighton Old Dark (thumps up) and a Waikato Draught (so-so). The highlight though was sharing a table with a couple of Kiwis. They were very nice and we traded stories, quite a few about animals and roadkill. I was quite excited to discover that one of the women was Maori. I didn't catch her name, but she was lovely and it was pleasing to meet a Maori after hearing quite a lot about the indigenous people of New Zealand. Bed has come late tonight and I think I may be in a bit of trouble since retelling my day has give me another kick of energy.

12/9/11- Art Deco style

Today is a new day and I'm going to wipe yesterday's frustration away. Little orphan Annie did say the sun would be out today, or was it tomorrow? Either way I'm going to take some deep breaths and make today a good one.

The campground echoes with CCR and Lynard Skynard? Am I home? It's 20:30 in December and children at one end of the grounds are kicking a soccer ball while children at the other are playing cricket. Oh, I'm in New Zealand. This FREE DOC campground is almost all I could dream of. It's on a river in the shadows of rolling green hills; sheep are bleating when the music is off.

We drove to Napier this morning and arrived in the art deco capital of the world. I had expected something quainter and more clearly demarcated between art deco and other styles. We wandered a bit and found lunch. I had fancy nachos and Frank's Pink grapefruit soda. We then hit the Internet. It wasn't that busy. We wandered some more. I found opossum world and discovered what I'd been seeing splattered on so many of the winding roads. Speaking of roads, I discovered today that right-of-way is about turning vehicles today. (As I retype this, I now have no idea what this means. It might mean that turning vehicles get to go first?)

We took an art deco walking tour in Napier. Our volunteer guide had some interesting asides and showed us numerous art deco and Spanish mission buildings. The most interesting tidbit from the tour was actually about the earthquake that started it all for Napier. It moved the ground up two meters, filled in swamp land and allowed Napier to expand.

We left town, stocked up for a roughing-it style dinner at a roadside fruit stand with cheese, golden kiwis, and some bread, and then made our way to this little piece of paradise (now with groovin' soundtrack- either me singing songs about tiny towels or some Maori radio. I'm not sure which.)

12/8/11 Pacific Coast Highway

The day started well as we watched the sunrise. Sure we set off the car alarm twice in  the pre-dawn hours , but things could only look up from there, right? Not so fast. It seemed ok for a while as we made our way to the East Cape. We had second breakfast at a Robert Harris coffee chain in Tauranga. Driving was going pretty ok for me. I was enjoying the road squiggles and trying to sort out my left from right. As we neared the point of no return I saw that the trip was going to take six more hours. I made a weak case for skipping the coast. On we went to the land of scenery. There were some beautiful vistas, the ocean in blues and greens, stormy clouds, sheep lice on chia pet  hills, but the driving to to be too much and the scenery not enough.

Travel, hunger, tiredness, mis-communication, took us places we didn't want to go. Now we're stuck. We've driven a long way to do less. We've seen more of New Zealand in the mileage sense, but I'm frustrated with myself and us for cutting so much into our ability to explore. C had a great route planned for us, but I nudged it and then she pushed it and now we need to find a way to get back on track.

Pasta  and salad at the Gisborne hostel thanks to Pak & Save got us back on track. The Tim Tams didn't hurt. Tomorrow we drive on...

Oh, I nearly forgot about the lunch spot on the "post-apocalyptic" beach- no tables, a creepy playground and gulls circling and coming way too close. We left in a hurry.

11/28/11 and 12/7/11- Supreme and the left

Upon reflection this day was great. It didn't always feel that way within, but as a whole it comes out a head. The main reason is the  Supreme Court. I watched an oral argument. It was fascinating. The best part was body language. Clarence Thomas slouched a lot. Justices looked perplexed, thoughtful, frustrated, pleased and they joked and prodded. I would have been completely lost if not for the helpful explanation of a stranger in line. He helped me listen to the case with context.

The case was about standing, injury in fact or injury in law. It made sense at the time.

I actually had long-ish conversations with three strangers today. The last in a game shop where I may have completed Christmas shopping.

Productivity was solid. Activity was decent. Thankfulness good. Creativity didn't kick in until I captioned my photos. More to do tomorrow, but it will be hard to top today's success in court.


12/7/11- The Internet calls to me this morning. Its call is hunger, boredom, a need for connection. I have none of these things with much strength, but there's an emptiness before breakfast I'm going to look at the map and see if that settles me.

We're in Opoutere now at a quaint little campground with beach access. We spent several hours walking the beach and lounging about. It was quite nice. Driving out of Auckland was Xtreme!, but otherwise the left side of the road makes about as much sense as the right. Turns still scare me a bit, but for the most part I found a groove as we drove to and then rejected a Department of Conservation (DOC) campsite. It was lovely and spartan, but we were unprepared at that point.

We had lunch in a beach town, Tairua, at a joint called "Out of the Blue." It seemed family run. Both our dishes had plum sauce and were quite good. We also sampled L&P, world famous in New Zealand since ages ago, as recommeded by TJ and Reis . Tasty, but not noel like Malt in Iceland. I often find myself making comparisons like that, though not always with so much judgment. It's like I'm seeking to classify the experience with or near another I've had. Even the walk to the beach reminded me of Jurassic Park and I didn't even experience that. Hopefully a T-rex won't wake us from our tent slumber tonight. We can hear lots of birds and the wind is whipping over the hills, but I think crashing waves are out of earshot.

11/26/11 - Kermit and fate?

The Muppets were the highlight of the day. Better than the Pancake Pantry, better than the Cherokee Grill, better than a canoe ride around the lake, even better than a little run, enjoying the Muppets in theaters with Clare, Carol, and Mimi took the cake. I laughed. I nearly cried. I missed my grandma and our trips to the movies. I missed my childhood and the hopeful singing messages of those wonderful Jim Henson puppets.  They were self-aware enough to be cool. Cheesy enough to be fun. I think I laughed more than anyone in the theater.

I'm ready to be home again. I hope I can last longer in New Zealand. Wait. One more note on the Muppets: I found it particularly troubling that Kermit had slipped into a life he'd never meant. If Kermit can't stay the course, how can the rest of us hope to?

11/25/11 and 12/6/11- Naps and Mac's

Napping, hiking, eating, napping- today was a day of classic relaxation. We hiked to Abram Falls, about 5 miles and I'm not sure what else we did. I'm thankful that I got to spend some time with C and have a nice chat with her sister. I got a few decent photos, played a 30-minute hand of UNO and watched the tale end of Lohan's Freaky Friday. I go to bed thinking I need to run. It wasn't a bad day at all, but I look forward to eating better soon. Soon is probably not tomorrow. By better, I really only mean fewer desserts.

12/6- I crashed hard on the flight to Auckland and struggled to get to the youth hostel. We made it though. C said at one point my sleep was a snore. I remember saying that I didn't like the bed while sitting up, but as soon as I was prone it was glorious. I look forward to a return to bed right now.

I woke up early, maybe 6:30 NZ time, walked around the block, started a new book and then crashed until 10 AM. We had some pies for breakfast. What is silver beet? We then walked down Queen St. to the harbor. We looked at marked down Rugby World Cup merchandise, but didn't buy. C needed a nap, I went to a nearby square where Occupy Auckland and a live art display shared some space. I helped a small group of people put together a puzzle of red over-sized pieces. It had the desired effect as strangers were talking and working together. I left extremely satisfied. Not even giant seagulls or dancing businessmen with cell phones could deter me.

C and I ate lunch at a cafe called Shaky Isles. We then took a bus to Mt. Eden, a former volcano now with grassy crater, with great views of Auckland. There's much more to the city than we'll see, but we got ready for our meal with Daimon's friend TJ and his flat mate Reis. They are both comedians and it was a joy to share a Mac's beer and exchange observations and conversation. We had drinks at Cassette and dinner at Mezze. I'd to like to better recount the day and tie it to philosophy the way my book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance does, but sleep calls and I just want to get the day down. Tomorrow we drive--- on the left.

12/5/11- A long day

There is no December 4 entry. It was gobbled up in a mess of time zones and travel. The flight to Sydney was better than expected. I watched "Bridesmaids," "Thor," and "I love you too" before finally getting to sleep at something like who knows what time- maybe ten to midnight Sydney time. I was very grateful for the in-flight entertainment options of Virgin Australia and for the kind flight attendants with brilliant accents. I slept off and on for four good hours and two average hours. The plane landed around 6:30 AM and we were seeing the Sydney sights by about 7:30.

The Opera House and the bridge were very photo-worthy in the morning. We walked the bridge, had a snack, headed to Balmain by ferry and had brunch. I enjoyed green eggs and ham. We walked Darling street for a while and battled fatigue. We then headed to Bondi beach. C had hopes of a nap on the beach, but a brisk wind and a light rain curtailed that desire. We walked Bondi street to Bondi junction passing souvenir shops and homes along the way. We had very little interest in anything as a desire to sleep grew stronger. We were looking forward to a New Zealand bed that night, but that was another three hour flight away. This is the other side of the world.

Arriving in Sydney, looking down at the ocean and trying to consider that we'd been over that water for 14 hours was too much to handle, but getting outside and getting to see some sites was worth it. Seeing the city as we landed was exciting. I sometimes forget how much I enjoy new places. There is mystery and fun in the new.

I'm tired and words aren't coming easily. The flight announcements are breaking my concentration. I'm easily distracted and easily angered. This may be the price of "time travel".

11/23 and 11/24/11- On pie and pace

My work may be on hiatus, but Clare's goes on. We spent the morning in her office and I reaffirmed my distaste for: 1) long commutes 2) intern-type work.

The long drive to Gatlinburg, TN was a great chance to talk about the future, so we did. Nothing was settled, but we share more freely and we're in a good lace together even as we sometimes struggle to be in a good place individually. The drive did steal away some of my feeling of endless time and freedom. The miles will go quickly. I'm thankful to be here with Clare's family and I'm looking forward to our Thanksgiving day hike. Clare's sister is having a baby, affirming that Clare and I are moving at our own pace.

11/24- I appreciate the Thanksgiving tradition of the last 4 years. Clare, her dad, and I hike ini the Smoky Mountains while her mom and grandmother prepare dinner. This year's hike involved a cabin and a schoolhouse, a departure from our usual high altitude, big-view hikes of the past. Dinner was delicious, but the day challenged me. I couldn't find a satisfying balance of napping and not. I missed my family.

Tonight, we shopped. The chaos lasted a little more than an hour. I'd like to say it was a sociology experiment, but I must admit I was swept up in the idea of finding a bargain. I found none and instead found myself overwhelmed by the crowds.

12/3/11- Headed to New Zealand

Dear Diary:
We're in LA. We've been traveling all day. Now it's time to travel all night. I feel better than expected at this point. I hope that can continue. We've had some bumpy spots; already had to change flights coming back, needed an Australia visa to be there for 13 hours. It's all ok though. C and I are snapping at one another a bit. Hopefully we can get used to spending this much time together again. I'm thankful we have the opportunity to try.

Today we've had no real problems. We're on time, our flights have been smooth, our Gyros delicious. I look forward to movies and sleep. I don't actually know when to call this day over. I'm amused by my lack of clarity about time and day already. Also totally psyched for more Aussie and Kiwi accents.

11/22/11- The first day of renewal

After being with my company for seven years, they offer four additional weeks of vacation to be taken all at once. The program is called "renewal" and it comes with a two-year commitment to stay with the organization. It's a pretty sweet deal. I'm now seven months into that two-year commitment and needing to look back at my renewal. I kept a journal during that time and will share parts of that journal here. I reserve the right to edit as I go.


RENEWAL: My practice retirement started today. Leaving work reminded me of the last day  of school. I had the urge to pull papers from my locker and  toss them in the air.

I walked to the library in the rain. It was damp and dreary, but I smiled. Time was on my side. Time. Time. Stretched out before me.

I've cleaned, watched TV, made this journal more personal and now prepare to read and go to bed early. Work stress flared up a bit, but this writing is helping me calm back down. I'm considering a one Internet connection per day rule. I like the potential peace that could bring to my days. The rule did cause me to enter, leave, and re-enter the living room several times as I tried to figure out what to do with my time, glorious time. It feels weightless.

New vocuabulary- straight from Germany

I learned a new word today: torschlusspanik. I'm told it's German and means something along the lines of worrying about diminishing opportunities as I age. There are a number of reasons for my torschlusspanik: another birthday approaches, another olympics approaches, Ultimate isn't being played, finding my dream job is a much slower process when I never make efforts, etc., etc.

I keep having this Facebook status thought that goes something like: "This past year has really sucked when you take out my 6 week vacation that included 2 weeks in New Zealand, the fact that I got engaged, and the fact that CUA played its best Ultimate yet."  Look at that statement. When am I going to have another 6 week vacation? Retirement or unemployment are my best hopes. New Zealand was amazing. Gorgeous. Awesome. There's more to come on those 6 weeks. I've got blog posts already written. Engaged? That's good stuff. Good Ultimate from the team I coached? What's not to like?

It makes for a ridiculous statement, yet the day-to-day has been pretty frustrating over the last year. There's been more job stress and uncertainty. There's been less exercise and certainly less intense exercise. I've stopped or lost almost every other pseudo-hobby I've had. I watch way too many movies and spend way too much time on the Internet.

If I get it down here, if I re-live or at least re-write my renewal, maybe I can change that status update. Maybe it can say something like: "Torschlusspanik or not, I knocked off some pretty serious stuff from my bucket list this year. Not too shabby, but man, I'd like to play some Ultimate."  Maybe.

Perspiring quietly- additional reflections on life without AC

The whir of the portable fan begins to drown out the more pronounced shoosh-click of the ceiling fan. I watch the blades turn until my eyes can find just one. I follow it round and round and round until my eyeballs get sore, a hint of the dizzy sets in, and I start to worry that the light fixture will fall down on my head when I sleep.

Sleep. I long for it. I try not to focus on the sweat I can feel forming where my body and the sheets meet. I move ever so slightly, hoping my grateful warm skin will appreciate the air just enough that it will cancel out the effort of moving. Being hot is a form of relaxation. It limits movement, slows down bodies and thoughts. Being hot forces me to the floor. I want to be low, like a limbo-winner, lower still. I want to hover just above the ground. In a perfect world I'd have a whirring fan so powerful that it could lift me off the ground and keep my beads of sweat from forming. Instead, I have a fan the size of my head that can blow air all the way to my toes. Only a few beads will form. It could be worse.

Air conditioning has made me this way. I'm used to a certain level of cool, used to certain level of whir, used to covering my skin with a little weight when I sleep. Air has conditioned me to expect these things and to rebel when I don't have them. My rebellion is a quiet sort. It's a grassroots movement that starts in my hair follicles and eventually agitates my whole being. I'd twitch violently, but that would just be more movement. Slowly, I wipe the sweat away, adjust my beard just so, and count the sheep jumping into the pool.

Highway to some unpleasant locale

The AC went out on me on Thursday. There was a power thingy and some surges, probably some lightning, and I'm not a doctor, but the cool breeze that blows out of my floorboards stopped blowing. This seemed bad. Particularly, when I considered that summer, the official one, had just arrived.  The heat from the outside became Miami's basketball team- The Heat. I turned on all the fans that we had- 4 in 3 rooms and just sweated a lot when using the WC. My sweat had a cooling effect and fortunately, some actual thunder accompanying a rain cloud also cooled the world a little because I was sweating up a storm in my own home.

The AC returned today, but not before I had the chance to reconnect with summer. There was a time, some number of years ago greater than the number of years ago that I graduated high school when my world was not always climate controlled. (That time resurfaced in college, but I'm thinking of a time when only one room in our house had a window unit.) Summer was hot and sticky those days. People drank lemonade and looked for shade. They also congregated around the window unit which is why central air conditioning became so popular. The days of window units are all but gone. My office now requires a sweater in the summer.  I can go from air conditioned building to air conditioned building with just a hint of sweat on my brow. I had forgotten summer.

It can't all be blamed on central air. I haven't had nearly the same punishing outdoor schedule of years past and the weather hasn't stayed as consistently warm. Nonetheless, it was time for me to reacquaint myself with summer time. The living may be easy, but it's also pretty sweaty. Somehow, through the fits and starts of sleep and the sweaty television viewing, I found myself comfortably warm. The outside temperature and my body temperature were not so far apart. The world and I were one. Nature was just on the other side of the screen and sweat was a lubricant for life.

Today, the AC returned. I'll go back to admiring summer from behind the glass.

A flight to nowhere, a honeymoon, and a 15 year reunion

The vacation did not begin well. After 30 minutes of flying toward KC, the pilot announced we were returning to DC. The delays became cancellation and the scramble to get a new flight as the tornado rolled into town became a scramble to find a flight the next day.  Thanks to the generosity of C&L, we made the most of our flight to DC with a nice dinner and some movie watching.

After a sunrise jaunt to Chi-town, we nabbed a stand-by flight to KC and got to town well ahead of my cousin's wedding. The wedding was a jumbled gyration of family and FOG. It was over before the DJ even had a chance to play "Call me maybe". He did manage to play the cupid shuffle twice thanks to Madeline's request, however. My nieces danced 'til late, but would not be outdone by the bride and groom who kept going strong even after this clean up crew began removing decorations. This apple doesn't fall far from that tree.

Although some of the FOG dispersed, two clans headed out for an annual canoe trip, now with honeymooning. The usual water gun fights were complimented with a rope drop. The rope drop is a close cousin of the rope swing, but instead of that graceful arc out over the deep water of the Niangua, this involved hands being ripped raw from the rope as those of us who tried fell into the water. Tedward had more luck than I did, but I feel lucky that my only injury was rope burn.

I enjoy canoeing as it happens, but I think I enjoy it more in retrospect. It's such a peaceful activity with an occasional burst of activity and tension. It's a good mixture of relaxing and interesting. Parker made her first trip successfully. She relaxed so much that at different points on the trip she fell asleep, head lolling  while the boat drifted down stream.

My sister discovered that although the her grown-up version enjoys canoeing far more than the teenage version, she still doesn't want to run a boat, at least not with her kids in it. For a while I wondered if I'd contributed to this lack of confidence, but then I decided that even if I hadn't been running the boat in our teen years, she would have resisted. It really seemed like she didn't like it those years. Eventually, every woman on the trip (except my mom) decided that, at least on a river like this, she preferred a kayak. I don't think it was a statement of independence as much as it was a comment on boat agility.

I particularly argue this since C and I closed out the week with a tandem ride. It didn't solve all our problems, but it was nice to be on the same bike ride at the same time. We would get better with starting given time. That required a little extra trust.

My story telling feels off now, but I'm trying to fight through it. My final paragraph is about the 15-year reunion I had with my track. My legs had no zip, but I still wanted to run a mile. It resulted in a pretty evenly paced 5:19. This is a good 4 seconds per year slower than, well, 15 years ago. I don't know that this is entirely reflective of my state of fitness, but it's pretty close as I continue to fight with this same mess. I'm back to PT and hoping to get over the hump. I want to sprint again and jump again (and yeah, play some Ultimate again.)

Longing

As the heat of summer slides between the hairs on my chin, I long to chase plastic. There are certain charms to the discussions of home maintenance, wedding planning, and the best way to grill a burger, but I'm distracted by thoughts of flying discs. I wasn't helped at all by the free streaming college nationals on the Internet. I watched the collegiate greats ripping long hucks in front of a mountain back drop. I watched great players diving and leaping and I longed to shed this lameness and join them or at least join their older brothers and sisters in a sloppy game of pick up.

I've done better with my disappointment this time around, but this weekend my resolve is slipping. I feel betrayed by my body. My mind lunges for discs unthrown. I throw fakes to shake defenders who aren't there. I hold conversations when I'd rather be running up and down a field panting, thirsting, and chasing after the disc that's brought me so much joy.  I made it through a very good college Ultimate season, primarily focused on the improvement of others, but now left on my own I feel empty without it. I want to run free, sweat free, and celebrate my freedom pushing a working body to exhaustion in pursuit of a silly little disc.

Sometimes I question how this can matter so much; I search for suitable alternatives. I've found a few, enjoyed other moments and other games. I've put my focus elsewhere, but today in the full force of the DC humidity, I grow weary of this state of affairs and long to break free.

I ramble in my frustration, trying to shake it. I turn up the music. I let the words spill out and I breathe deeply.

Life's lessons, I suppose. I'm taking my sweet time learning this one.

17 months of rest leaves me feeling fresh

I woke up nervous. It was nice to have that feeling back. It's been too long since I raced. My body still knew what to do. I joined Sam and Matt on a warm-up to the start of the MBT 5k. I went to the bathroom early and often. We had too much time to warm-up or not enough desire to get a full warm-up going. Either way, it seemed the only thing warming up was the sunshine.

I had plans. Plans are important. I never follow my plans, but that doesn't make them less important. I planned to run 6:15 miles. That would have netted a 19:25. That's just a touch faster than my slowest 5k I believe. After 17 months, it seemed like conservative was the way to go.

The leisurely morning finally turned into a race. It was a typical small road race where people are shy about toeing the starting line. We ended up in the pole position. We got out faster than 6:15. I couldn't tell how fast, but I used my plans  to slow myself down. I found myself in about 10th place and struggling with pace. Was I out too fast or was this too slow? I felt like I was in the way. I tucked in behind a woman for a bit and then she pulled away. On we ran. I felt good, like I was holding something back. I had no pain. All systems were go.

We made the first turn and I caught two guys on the downhill. I was tucked in behind them, but on this out and back course where runners were supposed to stay to the left, we found runners and walkers had gone right. I surged past the two and began waving frantically, even arguing for a moment on the run. That got me going.

I thought I saw the halfway mark and I was at 9:17. My plans were out the window, but I felt ok with pace. I just hoped I could hold it. I picked off a few more folks. At the second turn I passed another and found myself in fifth. The woman from earlier and one guy were within striking distance. Second place was off in the distance and first was long gone. I struggled a bit and checked my watch. It read 14 and change. I didn't really do a pace calculation, but I told myself, "Give me 4 more minutes. That's all."  I passed Matt and Sam heading the other way and Matt pointed out the guy in third. His message crystallized my goal. I accelerated slightly. I passed the man in third and set my sights on the lead woman. She was running well.  I cheered her as I went by, hoping she'd accept my support and knowing that she might come back on me at the end.

I held her off with a final push around the corner and up the hill. I hit 18:28, a 5:57 pace. I hope this pushes me back into the game. I feel a little tightness tonight, but for the most part I feel good. I'm happy to be back racing and perhaps happy to be back writing about it too.

Isn't there an REM song like this?

Ears submerged in water, the sound of splashing dulled, legs kicking, eyes focused on ceiling tiles, I felt a calm that has been elusive in recent weeks. On my back, slicing through the water, I was in an active recovery. The real difference from the laps I would crawl before and after was my ability to breathe. With the gasping and thrashing gone, swimming laps in the neighborhood pool became a meditation.

I've been swimming more times this year than I go most summers. With running and Ultimate not available the way I'd really like and the idea of a triathlon never quite sticking, it seemed like a good time to head to the pool. I've been fortunate to have a teacher on a few of my swims. Jim imparts the wisdom of his high school swimming days as best he can remember. His explanations of form taught me more about swimming in 30 minutes than I've learned in 20 years.

After a dip or two into the water, I purchased goggles and they have also changed swimming for me. If I was prone to hyperbole, I'd say they opened up an underwater world. If not a world, they've at least allowed me to see when I'm submerged which means I don't have to hold my head above water to look out. I haven't mastered all of this, but not bobbing my head out there increases efficiency considerably.

I swim with urgency. Like I'm being chased by sharks. This is ok for a length or two, but since I'm still working on breathing techniques and since I'm trying to get in a workout, this often leads to large sips of pool water and hacking coughs that echo off water and wall.

On Wednesday, I watched other swimmers and they move their arms more slowly, rhythmically, like a runner who understands pace rather than a child trying not to drown. I often compare my swimming experiences to running experiences. I'm fascinated by the breakdown, that point where physically and mentally I can no longer keep my form. It comes quickly in swimming, but it's so soft compared to running. The thrash is similar, in running it's harder on the legs than the arms, but the overall wobble is familiar. Yet, the swimming collapse would be so much stiller, so much quieter. I don't see legs buckling and balance teetering. I just see sinking.

After my swim, I ran home. It's less than half a mile, but my legs felt shaky. My body didn't quite know how to react. I couldn't go much faster, but I sensed I could go on much farther. It felt wonderfully terrible. It felt affirming. It felt like accomplishment.

What does REM have to say about that?

Crazy, Stupid, Chemistry

John has asked what I liked so much about Crazy, Stupid, Love and it's forcing me to consider my off-the-cuff year-end reflection a little more closely. Was it a "slow movie" with one good scene? First, I'll admit that I don't judge all movies equally, but my tastes often overlap with John's. So where did we depart on this one?

Was it expectations? It was advertised in line as a sort of offbeat romantic comedy and it delivered what I was looking for on that front with some laughs and the promise of happy enough endings.

I'll admit that it wasn't amazing on the comedy front and I do think the one scene John referred to was the big moment of the film, but what got me was something else. In my highly unscientific movie rating scale I usually rate two factors higher than the rest. Those factors:
1. Character connection or chemistry and
2. believability- that the rules of the created universe are followed.

Crazy, Stupid, Love succeeds on both of those fronts. In a romantic comedy, two is always very much a part of one, and I thought every relationship (every major one anyway) was well connected and believable. The connections didn't blow me away like Lost in Translation, but the solid performances by all the actors and the connections they created kept me entertained until that scene which caught me off guard.

Happy New Year! Books 2011

1. Captain Freedom
2. Going Long
3. Once a runner
4. Just Revenge
5. I Capture the Castle
6. The Guernsey Literacy and Potato Peel Society
7. Going in Circles
8. The Science of Single: One woman's grand experiment in modern dating, creating chemistry, and finding love
9. Mantle and the end of America's childhood
10. The Year of the Flood
11. Plainsong
12. Three cups of tea
13. Yugo: The rise and fall of the worst car in history
14. Better Off
15. Corelli's Mandolin
16. Diary of a Bad Year
17. The Dip
18. What now?
19. The Lacuna
20. The Hunger Games
21. Catching Fire
22. Mockingjay
23. A Little Bit Married
24. The Help
25. Tao of Pooh
26 . Made to Stick
27. Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
28. Devil in the White  City
29. A visit to the goon squad
30. The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
31. The Upside of Irrationality
32. Lance Armstrong's War
33. Superfreakanomics
*Sex on the Moon* (audiobook)
34. Divine Justice
35. I'm Down
36. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
37. The Runner's Rule Book

I was blown away by The Hunger Games trilogy (especially the first two books). Plainsong is a sleeper hit. If you have to pick one book about running, I think Going Long would edge out Once a runner.

Happy New Year! 2011 Movies

1. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
2. The King's Speech
3. Toy Story 3
4. Easy A
5. The Winning Season
6. Rear Window
7. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (I slept through part)
8. The Social Network
9. 100 Girls
10. Cedar Rapids
11. The Good The Bad The Weird
12. Never Let Me Go
13. Youth in Revolt
14. Monster
15. Tangled
16. 61*
17. The Road
18. It's Kind of a Funny Story
19. Source Code
20. The Dilemma
21. Rough Riders
22. Morning Glory
23. Changeling
24. How do you know
25. Black Swan
26. Somewhere
27. Super 8
28. The Green Hornet
29. Bad Teacher
30. Midnight in Paris
31. The Fighter
32. The last kiss
33. Paper Heart
34. Roman Holiday
35. Crazy, Stupid, Love
36. Duck Soup
37. ExTerminators
38. Blue Crush 2
39. Casino Jack
40. The Princess and the Warrior
41. Hall Pass
42. happythankyoumoreplease
43. Reservoir Dogs (re-watch)
44. 127 Hours
45. Red Cliff
46. Adjustment Bureau
47. You Again
48. Last night
49. Everything Must Go
50. The Flying Scotsman
51. Get Low
52. Something Borrowed
53. Waiting for Superman
54. Inside Man
55. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters
56. Scream 4
57. Bridesmaids
58. Thor
59. I love you too
60. The Help
61. Horrible Bosses
62. Rise of the Planet of the Apes
63. The Descendants
64. Chipwrecked- Alvin and the Chipmunks
65. Once (re-watched)

I think I re-watched several others as well the week I was sick, but I didn't track those. I usually only track the new-to-me ones. If you were going to watch three movies from my list, I'd suggest happythankyoumoreplease, 127 Hours, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. If you want to avoid three movies, I'd suggest Chipwrecked, The Good The Bad The Weird, and Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.

Somewhere between college and retirement

This week has been a kick. Time and its abundance are often on my mind. I seem to oscillate from feeling like a college kid to feeling like a retired guy. Last night was just like college, as I flitted from dinner with college students to  a friends' home at 10 o'clock just to hang out and chat before he left town. I continued that theme with a visit to a coffee shop where I wrote bad poetry and overstayed in a comfy chair. That feeling of a definite end (semester? graduation?) looms and it adds a richness to the daily experience. I also have a sense that I need to get work done (homework?), but that no one is really watching and won't know for quite a while if I'm successful.

On the other part of the wave is the retirement, or what I imagine retirement might be like. I've already discussed the visit to the Supreme Court, but there's a meandering to my outings. I have to run errands, but I get distracted. Yesterday, on my way to the Library of Congress I found a classic suitcase that someone had tossed out. I picked it up, walked home, dropped it off, and then headed to the Library of Congress. Yes, I am now picking up other people's discarded items. Not only that, but I have grand plans to turn it into a suitcase of memories. It could be a rather involved art project and I immediately put it off until later. Once at the Library of Congress, I wandered about, soaking up exhibits that I usually couldn't or wouldn't spend so long enjoying. I've cooked. I've cleaned (although not enough). Today, since the weather was nice, I decided to rake leaves. That's right, yard work. I'm fairly certain that teenage me swore off yard work forever.  Next up, traveling.

Supremely interesting

Washington DC- After walking East Capitol Street on an unseasonably warm November morning, I arrived at the line to the halls of justice, the highest court in the land, the Supreme Court. Attending an oral argument was my goal, but it took some time for me to get the courage to talk to one of the police officers and discover that I needed a ticket to wait in line. The ticket was numbered 87, but I had the impression that lines were known to stretch far longer and that I would manage to get in to meet my goal on this Monday morning.

My interest in the Supreme Court was governmental tourism. History gets made, policy gets interpreted a few blocks from my home and most days I don't even remember to wave as I ride by. With time on my side this week, I could go hear an oral argument. I had no idea what I was getting in to. The Internet was informative, but didn't really give me much context. Fortunately, a gentleman in line provided several of us the story that we needed. The case was First American Financial vs. Edwards. According to the helpful line lawyer the case was about legal standing. On the surface it was a case of a woman upset that the insurance she had purchased related to her real estate purchase had been through a company that received funding/a cut/a kickback from the real estate company that recommended the insurance. Although she seemed to have no complaint about the insurance or even the price, this "kickback" was the basis of the case and the justices were particularly focused on injury "in fact" versus injury "in law". I'm not a lawyer and can't pretend to be one, but without this context I think I would have been completely dumbfounded by the proceedings.

Getting into the court required a series of checks along with the shedding of most carried personal belongings. There was a mixture of fascination and confusion as we entered the courtroom. Large columns and red velvet curtains provided the back drop for the nine justices. I immediately recognized Justice Thomas and was soon able to determine the identities of Chief Justice Roberts, Justice Sotomayor, and Justice Ginsburg. If pressed I would have been able to pick out Justice Scalia as well, but beyond that I was drawing blanks.

During the first argument I was enthralled by body language. Thomas looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on this Monday morning. I guess even the Supreme Court is a job. Breyer (I'd discover later) tended to lean back in his chair staring upward deep in thought. A light placed far above him seemed to shine down on his balding head and glow. That sounds disrespectful, but once the justices questions started coming, it was awe-inspiring. They were clearly brilliant individuals. Their questions were often in plain language, but insightful and referential. They made the crowd laugh in several instances; Scalia in particular toward the end as the counsel had said something like "There are two sides to this issue" and Justice Scalia had said "Yours and theirs."

After the first argument, I thought for sure the court would side with Edwards, but they probed the opposing counsel with equal interest and skepticism. I've never wanted to be a lawyer, and watching the lawyers sway and dodge and try to answer the justices questions didn't change my mind, but I have to admit to being extremely impressed, sometimes even awed at the proceedings. I just found a new respect for the judicial branch of government.

A piece of work

I made a P.A.C.T. with myself. I'll fill parts of my days with Productivity, Activity (of the physical sort), Creativity, and Thanks (giving). I woke up early and did yoga. C put me to work at her place of employment. I took a test and now I'll give thanks in acrostic form. Check and check. That will just leave the driving and the finding out whether my audio book selection was a winner.

Thanks for the time which suddenly seems so prevalent
How about that peace that comes from morning yoga?
All I want is to enjoy the quiet a little longer
Now I'm ready to enjoy lunch
Kind of hoping for BBQ
Sweet tea, too.

A regular pot o' emotion

This year is really an odd one. We've been through the part where I have stopped exercising and started working late, but we haven't yet been through the part where I have one work day left in 2011. I chose this particular renewal vacation schedule so as I left for Thanksgiving I could tell my coworkers, "See you in 2012."

In September and October, I thought this day would never come. In the last two weeks, I realized the day was almost here. For most of last week, my giddiness grew with each passing day. I'd wake up early and stressed, but go to work singing. The songs would wear off by 10, but I'd always find a moment or six that reminded me that my work for the year was almost done. I worked later hours, but it didn't matter with respite coming.

Today was not like the other days. It dragged a bit. Every project that seemed done suddenly came back to need just a little more. Other projects started to unfold before me. I couldn't think them through. My thoughts clicked and whirred, but the gears didn't seem to be turning. I struggled.

Then some other gears began to turn. These weren't the work-maker gears. These were the doubting gears. Will work realize that I am the peter principle personified? What if my dad is right and they discover in my absence that I wasn't really that useful any way? What am I going to do with all this time? Can I even fill an evening without Ultimate? What if I'm bored? Or worse, what if I want to go back to work?

I'll have a few days to think through those questions, but just one more day to practice my "craft" in '11. It's just so cool to say. If I wasn't so nervous, I'd never tire of it.

Trying to take the hippo from the hypocrite

I'm aware that what I'm about to write borders on hypocritical, but like a non-resident alien, I don't really have anywhere to go with this. I'm worried about the written word. This concern has been expressed before, probably quite loudly in a few newsrooms, but it comes to my fingertips from an unexpected source.

I was buying greeting cards last night. On the surface, this seems to show a traditionalist's support of the postal service, Hallmark, and words. Upon closer examination, we find that I was wholly unable to resist the charms of the musical cards. Even with the 150% mark-up in price and my usually conservative wallet, the music could not be stopped. Dear Mr. Mclean, the music did not die, they just made it really small and hid it in the grocery store aisle inside birthday greetings. Love, Dave.

I'm certain there were suitable cards for dads, bros, nieces and nephews, but again and again I was drawn to the cards that could make the recipient sing and dance. This makes some sense when buying for my nieces. They will sing and dance with a musical card. They will open and shut that card until the music does visit good old Don or the paper wears away to shreds, but my brother-in-law? He might chuckle, but he won't keep that card around until it wears thin. He'll toss it. Logically, I know it, and yet, as I said, I couldn't resist. The musical cards spoke to me (some quite literally) and they made me smile fondly and think of my family. The regular cards failed to capture that same spirit. I didn't regret my decision until I was home. The music was too strong and had moved me too far from the 99 cent rack. Now, I wonder if I also helped to kill the radio star. What's next? Bookstores?

Oh yeah... Speaking of that, author Ann Patchet just opened a book store in her town because she didn't want to live in a town without a bookstore after the last independent one closed. I'm impressed on a number of levels, but most impressed by the idea that Ms. Patchet is successful enough to say bookstores and words mean so much to me, I'm not letting them go down without a fight. That's a fight I might like to join.

Ads of the 80s

I don't think I remember the famous Apple commercial from the 1984 Superbowl game itself. I know the commercial, but I think it was one of those things that got discussed for many years and then it came to the forefront for me while studying advertising in school. It was a breakthrough commercial and it resurfaced in conversation again recently when Steve Jobs passed. At some point along this sine wave of life, I'd made the assumption that everyone my age knew that commercial. That assumption seems to get harder to make in the world of the Internet, but I think every book in college referenced it once. (You'll see why 1984, won't be like The Golden Ass. I kid.)

I forgot not everybody had so many books about advertising, so I was surprised to learn that C hadn't seen it. I made her watch it, but I don't think it changed her much. Not too long after my run-in with memories of the 1984 commercial, I visited Wendy's. Up on the signs it said, "Where's the beef?" I pointed in amusement, but the college guys I was with didn't even smile. Then it hit me. I was 6 when that older woman and her two friends were squawking, "Where's the beef?" They were 10 years from being born. I know my teachers discussed the Wendy's commercial in college, but that one was a cultural tsunami. I saw it for sure. Probably during Dukes of Hazzard. Everybody got inquisitive about meat. My memory isn't much, but I'm almost certain I remember my own grandmother asking, "Where's the beef?" and laughing. Now, today, out of the deep recesses of my mind I recalled another commercial from the 1980s. It was a Folgers coffee commercial that involved secretly switching regular coffee with Folgers crystals. I wasn't drinking coffee or even thinking about coffee, so I'm really not sure what stirred memory. Caught up in this wave of 1980s advertising, I have to wonder what will shake out next and also what I'd do for a Klondike bar.

Couple's costume- It must be serious

Despite C's complaints about Halloween, the party in our midst meant that she agreed to dress up. The perfectionist and the procrastinator may make costumes more challenging, but a simple concept done right can overcome those obstacles. After batting a few ideas around, we'd settled on a costume. What it lacked in timeliness, it made up in simplicity.

We decided to be the 2010 youtube sensation Double Rainbow. With more than 31 million views, we knew that a few people wouldn't get it, but for the most part we'd be covered. We started to realize how well covered when we were shopping for shirts with rainbows on them and found mostly double rainbow shirts. Not wanting to be a quadruple rainbow, we kept our search going and eventually settled on homemade fabric pen rainbows. C also found a sweatband set to really round out the look. Nothing like a balding man in a rainbow headband to make the crowd say "It's so beautiful."

I can't be certain that "it's so beautiful" was an exact quote, but we did manage to snag an Honorable Mention at the party. The crowd had already cheered for Google maps (best overall edging out Axl Rose), the gnarwal (most creative), and the nurse (most risque), so they didn't have much left for our double rainbow, but we know in their heart of hearts they had to be thinking, "What does it mean?"

A bit of pride, a bit of jealousy

My friends ran a 50-miler last weekend. Read Paul's recap here. I'm awed by that accomplishment. I don't know that 50 miles of running is something I ever need to do, but I don't like that I missed out on this running adventure.

I didn't just miss out either; my running right now is in another universe. They ran for 7 hours, I ran for 7 minutes. Other than Wildwood and bike commutes, I haven't really done any exercising since July. I would complain about my 7 minutes since it felt far from right, but I won't. Instead, I'll tell you about reaching for my shoes. Sometime in August, I took my running shoes out of the hallway and stored them high up in the closet. My black dress shoes that don't get out much go up in the closet. Today, even in the rain and the hint of a cold, I reached up into the closet and pulled down my dormant running shoes. They looked white and clean. They were firm and crisp, almost like new. As I gingerly brought them down, I had to push away high school cross country practices and recreational 5ks. I couldn't call up those memories today. Today I just had to put one foot in front of the other.

Today was another step on a long journey.

New TV is shiny

Internet, I have to admit something. The new TV season is making me giggly inside. I can't stop watching new shows. There's hope and promise that comes with the season. It's like going back to school with a fresh slate. Freshmen year is over. We're sophomores now, so we kick butt.

I know that I sometimes rail against television and the negative effects it has on my life, but for now I'm mildly enthralled. That's a step up from slightly jazzed, but down from medium pumped.

In a few words, maybe even a sentence or three, let me give you my rundown on the latest shows (and some of the not-so-latest).

The New Girl: The promos were everywhere and I was sick of them, but it's Zooey Deschanel. Claims have been made that hipsters could watch her eat spaghetti and be pleased. After watching an episode, I'll give it a C. Zooey managed to pull off a few adorable moments, but there's something just off about the show. I'll probably watch another. The Douchebag jar was a nice flourish.

The Hart of Dixie: Wow. This show is a giant cliche, written poorly, acted poorly, and really predictable. Rachel Bilson is amazingly unbelievable as a wanna-be heart surgeon. Eight minutes in, C asked me how much longer we were going to give the show. I answered slowly, six to eight.... weeks. She laughed at me, but I might be serious. It's so bad, it's fun. Plus there's Bilson and banjos.

Free Agents: It's now been on in my house twice and I didn't like it either time. I'm just not interested.

Up All Night: Will Arnett should stop trying to be the lead in shows. The end.

Ringer: It's great to see SMG back, but not so great that we need to see her on screen with herself. That didn't last long, but I think the show is moving too fast for its own good. The idea of suspense is starting to build, but episode two made me start to lose interest. Grade: B-

Whitney: I watched a tiny bit of Whitney, died a little inside, and considered writing a show for Will Arnett. No thanks.

The Office: I'm still clinging to some hope. The Nard Dog pulled it together as boss and the writer's reminded us that even without Michael Scott Dunder Mifflin is a big ol' family. Wait and see mode on.

Community: They are hyper-aware of their awareness and it's getting to me a bit. The song about their awareness was pretty funny and so was the Britta/Chang symbiosis, but they might be pushing Jeff Winger to places I don't want to follow. I'm hoping they return to form soon.

Modern Family: I keep missing the first 8 minutes of Modern Family, so I'm giving them a pass for now.

Parks and Rec: This is a warning to myself. I hated this show when it first came out. I hated it so much that I swore it off forever. Well, after some badgering, forever ended and I decided to give it a chance. It was kind of funny, then Ron Swanson enacted an elaborate high-speed escape plan from work. He ended up in the woods with a giant beard. That, my friends, was a turning point. I'm cruising on through the season with this show. I may even find time to catch up on the episodes I missed.

TV. You've got my number. Please keep it away from the Internet. Oh, crap.

(Added late: Oh, I forgot Suburgatory. It's got a "Mean Girls" flavor. It seems promising.)

Barefoot and in the kitchen

Nearly half a can of tomato sauce meets my approximation of half a cup of brown sugar. Then, I heat it. As the sugar turns to liquid and the brown and reds start to become brownish red, I reflect on the culinary arts as practiced by an amateur.

I'm mostly following a recipe from the Clarks, a fine family that I've met twice before. It's a recipe from a cookbook celebrating a time and place I never was- Windy Hill. The co-mingling of personal effects that comes from co-habitation sometimes leads to this brand of exploration. Memories and associations cross-pollinate and become meatloaf. As a kid, I loved meatloaf. My mom made it better than anybody. Other meatloafs tried to compete, but slathered in Heinz, mom's meatloaf was blue ribbon grade A gold star delicious. Mix that reminiscence for meatloaf with C's nostalgia for Windy Hill, add some Worcestershire sauce and BAM, now we're cooking.

It's not always meatloaf, of course. These explorations can take all sorts of funny twists and turns. Sometimes it's an affinity for Britney Spears that didn't seem quite so strong before. Is it mine? Is it yours? Is it stronger than yesterday?

Can we even share an affinity for a pop star? It would seem so. Now my meatloaf is nearly done. Will it taste like I remember? Or does that require my mother's touch? Will it taste like Windy Hill or is that a Clark secret ingredient that didn't get transcribed?

The mystery is in the meatloaf. The lunch ladies know what I'm talking about.

Three (or so) things to write about

Missing the DC earthquake by being in California and other tales from last week's trip

The 100th storm of the century or why the hurricane doesn't seem to scare people

Facebook is ubiquitous or the I just had a baby text and status update